


J.A's Kinktober 2020

by Jerrys_Acolyte



Series: Jerry and 'Friends' [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Anti-Void (Undertale), Kidnapping, Sensory Deprivation, Unreliable Narrator, referenced sexual content, unreliable author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:08:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 12,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26681155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jerrys_Acolyte/pseuds/Jerrys_Acolyte
Summary: I have a chance to be free of Jerry's nagging. I just have to do Kinktober.Easy as pie.... it's 2020, nothing is going as planned.(Complete)
Series: Jerry and 'Friends' [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941457
Comments: 23
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

Day -3

My living room was a pigsty.

I’d been severely neglecting my ‘duties’ posting the story Jerry demanded, so a visit from the little slime ball wasn’t unexpected, but this time he hadn’t bothered to stick around after ruining the place. At least we weren’t going to have the same run-around conversation. “I’m too busy.” “Do it anyway.” It wasn’t worth either of our time.

Apparently he agreed talking wasn’t doing any good and had just trashed the place to prove his point. Food wrappers and remnants again littered every surface. There were dried splatters of soda on the furniture and carpet, crumbs in and around all the puddles. The remotes and several DVD’s were scattered to the four winds and please, please, please don’t ask me to describe what the bathroom was like.

In the middle of all this mess was a letter printed on official stationary;

“ _Favored Acolyte_ ______________”

I suppose someone was supposed to put my name on the line. They hadn’t.

“ _Accomplish the famed ‘Kinktober’ trial to my satisfaction and you shall be considered worthy. You will have proven yourself skilled in the high art of writing love and will no longer require my direct supervision. Should you complete this trial you will pass from Postulant to a fully autonomous Acolyte._

_Sincerely and with the greatest affection, [Change salutation]_

_Jerry_

_god of love_.”

I don’t understand why this form letter exists. Were there other Acolytes out there being harassed by Jerry? Vex maybe? Or was this like a mandatory curriculum thing? There was no way Jerry wrote the letter. Somehow, I suspect that wasn’t even his signature.

Regardless; this was wonderful news. All I had to do was participate in Kinktober and I’d be off scot-free! Perfect. I participated in NaNoWriMo successfully six years running, Kinktober shouldn’t be that hard. I’d finally be free! This whole miserable year could end on a positive note! It didn’t even matter I hadn’t posted any actual smut before; I was already as good as free! Jerry was as good as giving up.

Free at last!

~~

Day -2

Safe in my own -clean- home with the doors locked and the windows shut against cooling fall temperatures. My focus was on my laptop when a strange voice addressed me from almost directly beside my ear.

“Hello Creator.”

I screeched and fell out of my chair, scrambling to get away from whoever had doubtlessly come to kill me.

Ink giggled at my antics.

Ink, the outcode Sans who helps artists with their inspiration, was in my house.

It took a minute to recognize him. First, I had to sort through the horror and terror of a walking skeleton in my kitchen. He’s not as cute and round as fanart typically makes him out to be, but once that initial shock started to fade I recognized his signature ink blot, paint sash, and his bizarre eye lights, floating in unnaturally dark eye sockets, flashing from a yellow diamond and a blue horizontal oval to a green rectangle and orange circle when he blinked. Once recognition sunk in, I was star struck (star Sans struck?) “Ink! Holy Feck!” Finally! My delusions were turning cool again!

Ink grinned, nowhere near modestly. “Hey there. I picked up on a lot of creative motivation and thought I’d check it out. What are you working on?”

I pushed myself off the floor. “Jerry said if I get through Kinktober he’ll let me off the hook as his acolyte.” Kind of. That’s what the form letter said, anyway. I think.

“Oh!” Ink said brightly. He lifted the end of his scarf and started skimming through his notes, biting a brightly colored tongue. While he searched, I tried not to be too obvious about staring at him, trying to decide if the tongue sticking out between his teeth was actually rainbow colored or if it had just been stained and dyed by his paints.

Inquiring minds wish to know, so sue me.

“Ah! Jerry!” Ink finally announced in triumph. “Oh… Jerry.” Without looking, Ink selected some disgusting shades of grey and green from his sash and licked the ends of the vials. As he slipped them back into place, his skull scrunched with revulsion and disdain.

Don’t ask me how he did it. I’ve written about skulls making expressions plenty but actually seeing it almost made me want to drink icky colored paint, too. The bone moved and shifted, but my brain refused to tell me exactly how it was doing that. Not a squishing or like there was somehow musculature beneath the bone… he was just moving.

“I understand why you’d want to be free of the guy.” Ink nodded as he dropped his scarf. “So, let’s see how your key to freedom is coming.” The inspiration of so many fan artists across the globe turned to my laptop, reading what I’d written. It would have been one of the coolest and most terrifying moments of my life… if it hadn’t been smut he was reading. I could only lean against the back of my couch and linger somewhere between shame, apathy, and resignation.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if the person reading my smut had a soul. Or if every move he made and every flash of his eye lights didn’t convince me I was beyond losing it. Seriously, there was no adherence to any law of physics. We’re talking Brain on Fire here. Lordy, I hope it’s a brain infection or something else they can treat.

Ink snorted, giggling without even reaching for any of his paints. “A ‘rippling’ orgasm? What even? Hee!”

I waved a hand, excusing myself from the responsibility of a solid answer. “I can’t begin to explain. Haven’t you read something descriptive enough in somebody else’s writing? I’m far from the most talented in this genre.” I’m far from the most motivated in this genre.

He laughed again. “Pft, nobody describes it so that it makes any sense. Coils snapping, fireworks, sparks, really?”

I shrugged. “It’s a lot, and it’s confusing as hell to describe.”

He nodded, then smirked suggestively, a ridge above his eye sockets wagging suggestively. “But it feels good, right?” I shrugged again. Ink blinked. His left eye light switched to a blue question mark. “No?”

“It…” I sighed. “It can be. All kinds of feel-good chemicals are released in humans. Feel-good magic, I guess. But if you don’t know what it is or you don’t want it, an orgasm can be terrifying or even seriously traumatizing.”

He frowned. His right eye light shifted to a pale-yellow loading symbol. Ink scrolled through my file for a second and found the tags, which I collect at the beginning of story files. After a moment he read. “Consent is sexy?”

“Exactly.”

He pulled a pen from his belt and scribbled something in his scarf. The end of the pen wiggled wildly, but the nib barely looked like it moved, his writing was insanely tiny. When he finished writing whatever note was so important, Ink returned to my fanfiction and read some more. He tapped the screen, his phalange making an odd noise on the plastic. “Okay, that’s funny. Grade ‘A’ humor.” I looked at the line he indicated. Bone-r. Possibly the worst and most frequently used pun in undertail. He really was a Sans.

“Not that I’m complaining, but how are you here?” Even as I said it the question sounded dangerously like I was humoring my own delusions.

Ink chuckled. Even if it was fake and paint induced, he had a nice laugh. “Yeah, usually I try to help artists more subtly, but you already have an in with Reapertale, so I figure it can’t hurt to stop by.”

“Hm.” That made some sense. Kind of. No. No it did not. He couldn’t remember _Jerry_ but he knew Reapertale was harassing me? Must be the miracle of generalization memory. Or his scarf’s notes are detailed funny or who the heck knows how a soulless memory works.

Rather than thinking on it too deeply, I pushed off the couch and headed for the kitchen. “Can I interest you in some guacamole?”

Ink though it over. “Uh…?”

“Nevermind. You try it, tell me what you think, and I’ll remember for you if you ever swing by again.”

“Deal!”

~~

Day -1

_… feverishly kissing and touching, licking and tasting, and…_

I stopped typing and leaned back in my seat. “This.” I said, rereading the last… crap, the entire story was worthless. Where did I come up with such a shoddy premise? This was beneath even my standards.

A few keystrokes later the entire file was digital dust and I was on my way to the kitchen for a snack, and by snack I mean three course meal because I was starving. Three days of typing nearly every waking hour and skipping most of the sleeping hours. I built up a backlog of stories. Smutty as I could make them, admittedly light on character development, but ready to take me through the first half of Kinktober.

Egg sandwich in hand, I eventually returned to my computer and squinted at my ideas list. There were a lot of good ones.

No, maybe not so many good ones. Some of them repeated a couple of… four times. No, wait, the entire list was repeating four times. My vision had gone quadruple and was swimming around.

Crap I’m tired.

It was time to close my laptop and take a nap. After I finished my food. Fifteen stories backlogged should be enough to allow me a nap. Just a couple hours and I’ll have enough brain cells to squeeze out a decent chapter or two before October really gets underway.

31 days and I’ll be free of Jerry.


	2. Day One: Kinktober START!

“Thirty-one days to post and be free! Thirty-one days to go! Open Archive Oh-three! Post the chapter! Thirty days left to post and be free!” Trust me, I’m a wonderful singer. The fact that you’re reading this and not at all able to hear my voice in no way means I would undermine my reader’s trust by lying about such a thing.

Well, at least the kids at the daycare never complained… the younger ones… who couldn’t talk yet…

Anyway; no matter how many times I post, what fandom, what forum, there’s always a little thrill setting up to post a new story. Some part of me hoping, eternally optimistic that someone will trip over my tiny little addition to the internet and enjoy it.

Even 'baby's first smut'…

It takes a while to pick the title, carefully add tags and reconsider if I should throw them all in at once or add per chapter. Eh, I’ll wing it. Copy and paste the text, realize I input the story on the wrong format. Delete everything and try again -it’s really my routine every single time I post, when will I ever learn? A final read-through, delete a double word I missed, rephrase a sentence, and finally everything is in place.

I fingered the touchpad on my laptop, positioning the cursor over the submission button. “Thirty-one days to post and be free! Thirty-one days to post! Click the- what?”

Noise. Either the television exploded with static or something existential tore. Though alerted something was not right, I still jumped and shrieked when my wrist was seized and my hand yanked away from the keyboard, pulling me clean out of my seat, knocking the chair to the floor and sending the laptop flying.

“AUGH!” Fear, pain, surprise, for a moment I was trapped in a purely instinctive mindset, trying to grab at whatever was trying to cut through my wrist like piano wire. “Shit!” Slowly I regained enough thought to really _look_. My wrist was bound by a few lengths of a string so slender I couldn’t even see it in my panic. Despite being so slender, they were a vibrant, deep shade of electric blue.

Finally my senses returned enough for me to grab one of the strings leading away with my free hand and follow it, turning. Again my mind boggled, refusing to immediately accept what I was seeing.

Another skeleton monster.

Kind of.

Black skull stained with blue, edges pixilating in and out of reality and further obscured by alert messages, eye sockets filled with red, yellow, and blue. Familiar clothes and digital phalanges twitching with the finesse of a master puppeteer whose life was the show.

“Error.”

He grinned. Of course he grinned. Head tilting in a way that didn’t assure me of sanity, his voice scratched and cracked like a bad cassette. “Don’t touch that.”

Other than his name, I had nothing to say. Error. He was here… and more importantly his strings were _touching me._ Jerry, Ink, none of my delusions had ever _touched_ me before. They weren’t supposed to be able to, they were _delusions!_

Error seemed used to having a stunned, terrified audience. “You’re one of Ink’s little pet ‘creators’ aren’t you?” Error demanded. His words skipped and glitched abruptly, sometimes in the middle of a consonant. It was like his voice files were even more corrupted than his body. Together, I was more viscerally offended by his voice and appearance than by men who’d been burnt near to death or blown apart.

“You don’t just draw annoying pictures, creating _characters_. You’re a _writer_. Creating entire, worthless ‘oneshot’ AU’s on a whim.” He rolled his hand. Red, yellow, and blue bones twitching and jumping between glitches and tiny, intentional movements that scared the living hell out of me. I had no idea how much of what I’d read and seen in fanfiction and fanart was real, but I knew Error destroyed entire universes with the strings he now had wrapped around my wrist.

My own hand was throbbing uncomfortable, fighting the pressure on my wrist. It was starting to hurt. Not that I was unaccustomed to pain, but this wasn’t supposed to hurt. This wasn’t supposed to hurt because they weren’t supposed to be able to _touch me!_

“And these last few days you’ve gone nuts. Creating over a dozen AU’s, one right after the other! No thought about _consequences_. Just a new AU whenever you like. Probably can’t even remember how many you left for me to clean up. And this?” He twitched a thumb. A high sound like a zipline hissed past my ear before my laptop came to rest in front of him, suspended in a set of the same blue strings. “Entire throw-away AU’s for this?” Error clenched a fist. “Filthy _smut_?” The screen went blank an instant before my laptop shattered, parts crashing and tinkling to the floor as the blue strings slid away.

That broke through my stupor. “I need that!”

“That’s why I broke it!” Error snarled. “No more computer, no more writing.”

“I need that for WORK!”

“Work? Is that what you call that filth?”

“Fanfiction doesn’t pay the bills!” I snapped. I needed both my computer and my phone to access my work app. I needed my computer to pay the bills. I needed that computer to stay housed! I wouldn’t last two weeks without it.

And the bitter irony? I could see my flash drive with all my fanfiction where it had fallen beside the couch, unharmed.

“If you’re so worried about your job, why waste time creating AU’s for _smut_?”

“If you have a problem, take it up with fucking _Jerry!_ ” I snapped, months of frustration and disgust with the monster throwing off most of my remaining fear. “That asshole’s the one making me write and post this stuff to keep him off my back!” Admittedly, _maybe_ I hadn’t been doing a very good job… but it’s not a job I asked for, either.

Error frowned, teeth drawing into a straight line. The absolute blackness of his bones actually made watching him move easier on my stomach than Ink. “…Jerry?”

“Yeah. _Jerry._ Calls himself the god of love. Eats all my snacks. Trashes the place and acts like I owe him something.”

He narrowed his eye sockets. “Reapertale.” I nodded. “And he’s been… here? Forcing you to write these abominations into existence?” Another nod. No reason to split hairs over my other fanfiction. Error looked around my house, thinking. “Well. That’s easily solved.”

Zipline hissing, colored skeletal hands twitching. “What are you-?!?!!” Pressure on my arms and chest through my clothes. My feet left the floor and I couldn’t stop myself from yelping like a wounded dog. The static hissing returned and my brain tried to short out at the sight of reality tearing apart and creating a growing spot of pure white where my couch was supposed to be. “Wait! STOP!” Error stepped through the portal. With a tug, his strings yanked me through as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm...  
> That expression.  
> That's the expression of someone whose read two smutless chapters in a row.  
> Suffice to say, you look really unsatisfied.
> 
> How 'bout we make it a third?


	3. Left Hanging

Fighting the pull of Error’s strings was instinctive, and futile. All I got for my trouble was an increase in pressure around my chest until I was short of breath and a few drops of blood trailing down one of the strings holding my wrist. My hand was starting to purple from the loss of blood circulation and the throbbing was so intense I hardly felt the cuts. Error’s irregular eye lights focused on the blood and he sneered -possibly the most disturbing expression to see on a skull. “Keep your disgusting fluids to yourself, human!” Error snarled.

“I prefer it that way.” I panted, but that was probably the last bit of sauciness I could muster. Personal preference for keeping my gross human fluids to myself didn’t change how my body responded to kidnapping, strangling, pain, fear, and impending sensory deprivation as I was surrounded by blinding white on all sides. The white made his glitching easier to look at, but also drew attention to his eye sockets. In completely different ways his eyes were just as disturbing as Ink’s. His eye sockets were just as empty and cavernous…. But it was a bright red nothing… With all the white I couldn’t not look at Error, but my eyes just could not make sense of him.

Error growled, a garbled noise like bad 90’s grunge music had been remixed with an ice pick through my temples. He waved his hand almost casually and I was flipped -shrieking like a banshee- head over heels. When I finally stopped spinning, my wrist was free and the pressure on my chest had eased, though the strings covered more area around my torso and legs, holding me securely. My arm was mostly free, now. Despite the severe trembling that was starting to set in after that spin, I managed to press my wrist against my jeans to try and staunch the bleeding. I may have whimpered, but I don’t know if I was loud enough for that to count.

“Hmph.” Error glared at me through narrowed eye sockets, which took some of the pressure off my eyes trying to figure out what was going on in there. “Just let Jerry try and track you down.” He challenged.

Static crackled and the white was interrupted by a glitchy portal to somewhere like the mountains in the winter. Was that Snowden Forrest? I’d barely begun to wonder before the skeleton stepped through the portal, closing it behind him and leaving me in the anti-void.

I waited, stupidly expecting him to just come back after running an errand or something, but he didn’t. The bleeding on my wrist stopped, my breathing returned to normal. He didn't come back.

Looking around was… kind of pointless.

Everything was white.

Not glittering and bright like snow, nor dull like notebook paper. It reminded me a little of some very expensive photograph grade paper I’d handled once, but without the gloss. No corners, no rafters -which only messed up my head every time I tried to figure out what I was hanging from- just white. Error hadn’t made any noise when he walked, so no floor either?

Thankfully, that wasn’t all. To my left and over my shoulder there was stuff. A bean bag. An enormous collection of dolls hanging like an extreme mobile. Blue strings thick as cobwebs that twitched from time to time. But all that was mostly behind me and it was hard to twist far enough to see. I don’t think Error wanted me to look at his things.

When it became obvious Error wasn’t just stepping out for fresh air or whatever my wait-and-see compulsion thought, I started feeling around for the strings holding me up. The ones on my torso and thighs were snug, too snug to get a finger under. I found at least four on my back and behind my shoulders that led somewhere else, but they were too thin and tight to pull on without hurting my fingers. I grit my teeth and tried to pull despite the pain, only for the strings to hiss softly and my hands sharply cramped like I’d grabbed the screws on an electric socket. My earlier whimpers turned to gasping sobs long before the hissing stopped and my hands were released. Once I could move them again, I crossed my arms protectively in front of me.

Okay… I won’t do that again.

So, I dangled. Nothing to do but stare into the white, nap, or lose myself in my imagination. I kept trying to find a metaphor for all the white but failing that I spent most of my time in my own mind. If Error thought trapping me in his anti-void was going to stop me from creating fanfiction ideas or even AU’s, he really had no comprehension of what made “Ink’s pet creators” tick.


	4. White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> White

It’s hard to focus on reworking stories after I’ve already started writing them on the computer. Once they’re written or typed, they shift in my head to something more tangible, almost too tangible to handle without the computer or notebook for a medium. Trying to focus on one of these stories without that medium inevitably leads to the creation of new stories… so Error leaving me here was counterproductive. Rather than stopping me, I was hammering out _three_ new AU’s.

One even involved stories that moved the plot forward with smut. I am never telling Jerry I came up with that on my own. Another was a nice, fluffy AU filled to the brim with Bitties. I was working through the question of ‘where do Bitties REALLY come from?’ when something caught my attention. The third was a multiverse story where the author is-

I looked up.

White.

Nothing but white as far as the eye could see. The anti-void was so purely white it gave the illusion of being RIGHT in front of my face. Sometimes I could swear I felt the white brushing the fine hairs on the tip of my nose. I wish I was facing toward Error’s little sky nest, that would at least break up the white.

Boredom must have compelled me to open my eyes. Won’t do that again.

I closed my eyes and went back to the AU. It was so vivid in my head just moments ago, but now it was fading ~~whited out like a pen mistake~~. So, I switched to the first, the one requiring smut. Naturally the lead on this one would be Fell Papyrus. Edge is hot enough to get the motor running even for someone who’s virtually ace -experience talking here. I want him off balance and not-quite-ready for his first time with the love interest, but not so much it puts him out of character. A mild heat? Not something animalistic or debilitating, but enough to be a nuisance that interrupts his work.

My eyes popped open and my head jerked up, reacting automatically as if someone called my name.

White.

Silence save for the very faint and irregular hissing of the strings dragging over each other. They might not actually be making any noise though, I’m already prone to hearing tones that aren’t there… Usually my ears were ringing in this kind of silence, but for some reason they weren’t ringing now, making the silence oppressive.

Forget it. I closed my eyes again and tried to think

A formal invitation to help someone through their heat… delivered through their very uncomfortable and unhappy brother. Red’s going to be absolutely miserable… which is just the way everyone likes him. And Big Brother scenes. The world needs more Big Brother Red, lazy but full of soul… I don’t want any of the chapters to be from Edge’s love interest until after this point, make her unknowable and confusing to Edge why his soul chose her. In fact, there won’t be any chapters from her perspective until their heart to heart.

I flinched back, narrowly avoiding… nothing. Despite knowing what I would see I opened my eyes.

White.

I shivered. There was nobody here and nothing to threaten me besides Error’s little nest of things. And yet, the hairs on the back of my neck were standing at greater alert than staring in the face of an enemy who literally wanted me dead.

I was all alone with nothing and nobody.

And something was watching me.

White.

White

White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> White


	5. Small Tantrum

White

“Found a peanut, found a peanut, found a peanut last night. Last night I found a peanut, found a peanut, last night.” Regardless of confidence or lack of confidence in my singing voice, it wasn’t like there was anyone around to critique my choice of music. Singing was just another attempt to ignore the growing frustration of not being able to read, write, or even snack. I wanted to cook and eat my boredom away, calories be damned.

“It was rotten, it was rotten, it was rotten last night. Last night I found a peanut, it was rotten, last night.” Originally, I’d planned to keep track of the passing time singing Henry VIII and counting the repetitions, but I ran into problems. First; I kept losing count. Numbers slipped through my fingers, meaningless. I’d start counting but after two or three I found myself counting one and zero over and over again.

Who counts with zero?

Aside from that, I kept getting stuck on the second verse of Henry VIII. Tired of that, I switched to whatever songs came to mind that didn’t require counting, just to pass the time.

“Ate it anyway, ate it anyway, ate it anyway last night. Last night I ate it anyway, ate it anyway, last night…”

Static hissed behind me.

I tried to look over my shoulder toward Error’s place and barely managed to see the tear open to another world. Greens and blues assaulted my anti-void bleached eyes before black, blue, yellow, and red; Error stormed through the portal. “That rainbow ASS! If I could just get my hands on him, I could crush that stupid abomination and get some work done!” He was in a state. Yelling and waving his arms, kicking over the knitting basket, kicking again at nothing, growling and snarling while pacing in and out of what I could see. His words were relatively tame of profanity and detailed threats but broken up more than usual with enraged electronic squeals and cracks. A general emotional outburst rather than a specific grievance, I suppose.

And then he froze, his voice actually scraped as he fell silent. Ever so slowly, he turned until he was facing me. The error messages and glitches over his skull and clothing multiplied and the bones between his sockets and teeth lit up with a rich blue that glowed, contrasting the unlit blue lines from his socket. He was a such a wealth of color in the white that I couldn’t not look at him, despite his embarrassment.

Static hissed and another portal opened to someplace black. Error jumped though like the anti-void had caught fire and both portals snapped closed.

I was left behind again without a thought and by the looks of it, I was in for another long wait.

White.


	6. Visitation

Stretching, squirming, wriggling, or twisting against the hold of Error’s strings all did me no good. I just couldn’t reach that itch. Isn’t that always the way?

Part of the problem was my own, though. Every time I touched those strings stretching out and up behind me, holding me up in the anti-void, my first instinct was to flinch away. I did not want to reexperience that crippling, electric pain by accident even though it had taken some serious effort on my part to trigger the shock in the first place.

Finally, I was forced to concede defeat and just hang there, trying to ignore what felt like a flea bite.

Something liquid, but thicker than water splashed behind me, followed by a familiar voice calling, “Hey! Error! Were you the one who… He’s not here.”

“Ink?” I tried to turn to look. “Ink!”

“Oh! Hello!” Ink jogged around to where I could easily see him. “You’re a different looking Frisk. Adult, too. Have you seen Error?”

“I’m not a Frisk… or a Chara.” I replied, feeling deflated. He’d forgotten me. I shouldn’t be surprised; between his soullessness, artist’s natural distraction, and the fact that we hadn’t really discussed anything important it was probably a perfectly forgettable meeting for him. “And, uh… no. Error’s not here. I think he left…” A few seconds ago? Hours ago? Longer? Less?

“Oh.” He blinked at me, eye lights flashing between shapes and colors before settling on a green diamond and an orange teardrop. “What are you?”

“I’m a writer. Error doesn’t want me writing so here I am.” I shimmied a little in my bonds. “Can you get me out of here?”

Ink grinned. “Great! I’m always glad to meet a creator!” He grabbed my free hand and shook it. His bones were smooth like living bone, but cold. I’ve handled actual bones, his were colder than that, cold enough to leave a chill on my skin. Weird. “I’ll get you home in no time! But first, I really have to ask Error about something! It’s important and can’t wait. Don’t worry, though. I’ll be back! _Hang_ in there!” He whipped out his paintbrush and splashed some ink onto the white of the anti-void. “Be ‘write’ back!” Ink assured me again, waggling the bones above his eye sockets over his own pun before he stepped into the ink puddle and sunk out of sight.

After a few minutes, the ink seeped away as if being drained and was soon gone.

I sighed. “One… two… three… (zero)… and he’s probably forgotten by now.”

Ha.

Ink broke Error’s quarantine. Ink shaking my hand once was more physical contact than I’d received since June.

White

Okay.

Enough of that. I wasn’t going to just hang here feeling disappointed and ~~abandoned, forgotten, useless~~ inert. I was the only person here, so it was my responsibility and duty to cheer myself up.

Inhale and; “Ba da! Dee-at dah dah! Ba da dee ah dat da da! Ba da! Ba DA! DAH!” No. I haven’t gone mad yet, it’s jazz.

The idea that sanses yanked from other universes and trapped in the void go seriously crazy makes sense (sans) to me now. All that white nothing/everything _staring_ on all sides with no relief. Literal torture. A person can only keep their eyes closed for so long and being tied up doesn’t help much. At least Error used enough strings to bind me up comfortably. Like a blanket. No, definitely more like a corset, it even gave that helpful breathing lift singers love with a corset, but it’s still not a lot of movement and my feet not touching ground is just another thing that’s bound to start messing with my head soon. How do astronauts do this?

“Blue skies, smiling at me…” See? I told you it was jazz. I can’t hear my voice echo, but neither does it sound like an open space. At least it isn’t utter silence, though. So, I keep singing. “Nothing but blue skies, do I see!” Oh, I wished to see blue skies again… or grey, or sunset, sunrise, night… when I was a kid, Dad would take us camping far enough from light pollution to see the Milky Way… I was too busy to go camping this summer even when the state lifted the ban, and then the fires kicked up. It probably would have been too depressing though. Wood beetles were absolutely devastating the forests last time I went camping.

That might explain the severity of the fires.

White.

Seriously, Error needs to decide he’s made his point and come back to get me before I have to go to the bathroom or something.

White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GP- I swear I wrote this chapter two months ago. The only thing added in the edits was the part about fires. XD


	7. Space Case

I didn’t hear the portal this time. One moment it was silent, the next I hear, “…want to believe him, really, but we can’t be sure Error wouldn’t lie about this.”

“But he’s never lied about destroying AU’s before… I think.” Both voices were similar, but there were just enough differences for me to feel relatively certain only the second speaker was Ink. Twisting around best I could, I saw Ink standing with two other skeletons. Both of the new skeletons were taller than Ink but they’d probably still be shorter than Error. Dream, in yellows and aqua with a little ringlet stubbornly balanced on his skull and Blue in his signature armor and kerchief. I don’t know if the story behind Blue’s armor is the same as the story behind the original Papyrus’s armor, but it was definitely handmade. I’m 99% sure his ‘poltroons’ were supposed to be the plastic guards from athletic knee pads. And it was either the appearance of all three of them or Dream specifically that had me feeling so sure I was finally getting out of here.

Though I couldn't see them very well from this angle, it was impossible to miss the exact moment Blue noticed me. “A HUMAN!” He shouted, his eyes lighting up. And oh boy, _that_ was why they were called the ‘star Sanses’. It was impossible to miss. Blue’s namesake color beaming like decorative lightbulbs had been stuffed in each socket, Dream’s warm yellow eye lights were nearly as bright, and for a moment Ink’s yellow star and teal diamond before he blinked, and they shifted to a magenta question mark and a blue exclamation point.

“When did Error start collecting humans?”

Ink, you absolute space case. He’d forgotten me. Again.

“I don’t think this is a new collection, there’s only one.” Dream reasoned.

“Hello human! My name is Sans, but you can call me the Magnificent Blue!” Blue hurried forward, kindly moving so I could stop straining to see him. The others followed. “What are you doing here?”

“Error wanted me to stop writing.” I explained, again. “Can you guys help a girl out?”

“Sure thing, writer!” Ink grabbed his brush and swung it over me, his magic dissolving the strings and releasing me -like he could have done the last time but didn’t. I managed to avoid screaming and clenched my teeth to avoid biting my tongue as I fell, but the floor… wasn’t a floor. I stopped falling and ended up on my rear, but there wasn’t any harsh impact like I’d expected and I couldn’t feel my own weight on my butt. No ground. No floor. Yet, there was something to sit on after I fell. Something. Nothing. White.

“Human! Are you alright? Chara tells me all that soft flesh is easily injured.” I nodded and gave Blue a thumb’s up, though my head still reeled over the fact that I was sitting on a something that was nothing and stripes with plaid were white. What the hell was I thinking just then? “Oh, good. Allow me to assist you.” Blue seized me by both arms and easily hauled me to my feet, then patiently held me up until I stopped being weirded out by how strong he was and figured out how to stand when there was nothing everything to stand on.

“Thanks.”

“A pleasure to be of assistance!” Blue announced, gloved hands on his hips and neckerchief doing heroic fluttering things despite there being no wind in the anti-void.

Dream smiled at his friend before turning to me. “Do not worry, human. My good friend Ink can open a portal to your home universe and have you home in no time at all.” Ink nodded.

Silence.

Three skeletons and a vast expanse looked at me expectantly.

Crap.

“Are you waiting for my address or something?”

“Oh.” Blue and Dream were perfect twins of each other, starlight eyes shrinking a little and gloved hands clasped over their skeleton grin teeth as they realized the problem.

Ink nodded. “Sure. Tell us what your universe is like and we’ll take you right there!”

I sighed, already seeing where this was going. “Ink, I’m a writer… a ‘creator’. Do you remember where we come from?”

“Of course! It’s…” He looked around, as if expecting a sign to appear in the vast empty/fullness of the anti-void. Ink grimaced and turned pointedly so that he faced Error’s little haven and didn’t have to stare at the white. “The creators’ universe is…” He scratched his skull, then picked up the end of his scarf and started reading. And reading… and reading… If I thought either Dream or Blue would accept gambling, I’d bet money Ink had NOT written my home universe down and -double or nothin’- would forget why he was reading his scarf before he finished.

Blue shrugged, taking his friend's distraction to formally shake my hand. Even though his glove I could feel he gave off _some_ body heat, unlike Ink. “As we were saying! It is a pleasure to meet you, human! You’ve met my friend, Ink! And this wonderful skeleton is Dream, keeper of positivity!”

Dream and I exchanged polite 'hello's and I gave them my name. Blue continued holding my hand. It wasn’t affectionate, and I wasn’t really letting him go any more than he was me. We'd both sort of picked up on the fact that neither wanted to be in the anti-void. Between the white and the not everything, having a hand to hold was a magnificent anchor. Dream glanced between us and at where our hands were joined, then pointedly stepped to the side with Error’s stuff so we wouldn’t have to look out into the expanse of the anti-void. Blue’s grip on my hand eased but remained.

Ink finished his scarf reading and blinked, -his eye lights a gold exclamation point and a blue star. “Oh! Hello, creator. Still here?” Eh, he missed my name but at least he gets partial credit for remembering my existence.

Dream sighed, but not without affection. Blue giggled. “Yes, Ink. She’s the writer Error kidnapped and we have to bring her home.” He pointed helpfully at Ink’s scarf. “Did you write down how to get to the creator’s universe?”

Ink tossed the scarf over his shoulder. “No. I don’t have the creator’s universe written down. When I go there, it’s because an artist or a writer is working really hard and needs a little help!”

“So… you can’t or don’t go there voluntarily?” Ink was smiling as he shook his skull. Teal diamond, yellow star with a green core. Dream covered his mouth again and looked at me with either concern or pity. Blue’s brilliant eye lights dimmed just a touch and his grip on my hand tightened comfortingly. 

My own reaction was muddled. This was bad, bad news, but I couldn't stop seeing the silver lining of never seeing my own universe again. Hello Dream. I could meet some of my favorite characters, join an Encounter and learn my soul color, see more magic, eat a cinnamon bunny, maybe adopt a Bitty! But I was going to miss my other favorite characters in other fandoms… And, you know, family, friends, even my brother’s dog…

But I’d been missing them for years, unable to return to my hometown for reasons that hadn’t changed. The optimism was winning out and I’m not entirely sure it was Dream’s doing. I could start again. Surely if I asked they could find me a universe where work for humans was abundant. Maybe I could even befriend some local monster, or even the skeleton brothers. Would Doomfanger tolerate me if I bribed him enough?

I was almost starting to anticipate being marooned in this multiverse when my thoughts were interrupted by something vital to the laws of space and time ripping apart. A portal to or from someplace grey and dismal appeared and the destroyer of universes stepped through, distracted and muttering while staring at infinity through a set of red rimmed glasses. Error glanced up, saw us, cursed, and whipped the glasses off almost faster than the eye could see.

Almost… Ink had a notebook in hand and was already sketching.

Blue’s smile came more naturally, his eye lights picking up again. “Hi Error!” He waved, releasing my hand in his excitement to greet the skeleton properly.

“Just what are you powderpuff abominations doing here?” Error snarled. “ **GET OUT.”**


	8. Wanted: Get Along Shirt

“We would like to leave, Error, but are not sure where to take this human. Please, would you give us their universe’s address?” Blue was perfectly polite and entirely without a doubt that Error might gladly give them my address and perhaps wish us well on our trip.

Thankfully, Ink’s reflexes were as fast as his memory was faulty. I grunted and grabbed Blue as he was pushed into me. Strings sliced through the area he’d been as Ink danced out of the way. Ink ran at Error, giant paintbrush swinging into a strike. Dream’s bow was already in his hands and Blue was regaining his balance as Error threw his hand out like he was tossing a cape over his shoulder, sending a net of strings hissing toward Ink from behind.

They were going to fight, right here in front of me. “Holy shit.” I murmured.

“Language, human!” Blue scolded as a bone club appeared in his hands, and then he ran to help Ink. Fine. If the melee fighter wants me to watch my language, I will (try.)

Ink attacked mainly with his brush -Broomy, I think. Either he struck at Error directly in a physical attack or tried to splatter the destroyer of universes with ink and paint, or a pale solution that dissolved swaths of Error’s blue strings. Color splattered everywhere in droplets, puddles and smears, sometimes seeming to hit something, other times falling infinitely through the white until it vanished from sight, swallowed by the anti-void.

Error blocked Ink’s physical attacks and dodged the paint. His strings hissed through the anti-void, sometimes pulling tight and singing with musical notes when struck, sometimes slicing through the not-space so rapidly they sang. Like soldiers in file, they snaked across what might be ground level, again and again, keeping the star Sanses and myself light on our feet to avoid being tripped.

White-yellow arrows flew, one after another like the bolts of Greek legend. Dream kept his distance from Error, providing ranged support that consistently aimed for where Error had intended to dodge, limiting their opponent’s freedom of movement. All the while he was shooting off arrows from his shortbow faster than most people could aim and fire a semi-automatic, Dream kept a large view of the situation and called advice to his allies, directing them to potential weak spots in Error’s defense. Dream shot me a grin as I stared in awe. It was possible he was drawing on my amazement to fuel his arrows, and the thought added to my wonder. A large portion of Error’s strings seemed focused on trying to make a grab directly for Dream, to snag at his chest where his little golden apple of a soul rested, but Dream dodged these with the agility expected an energetic Sans.

Speaking of which, Blue was no less a marvel. The space around all four skeletons was alive with white and blue bones swirling and jutting up to catch Error every time he tried to land, tearing through strings, and sometimes thrusting up to allow Blue to leap in and strike at Error with his bone club. Meanwhile, high overhead, even higher than Error’s cobweb cloud of strings and dolls, two giant animal skulls kept forming and blasting each other to bits -one black and vomiting a migraine inverted color spectrum, the other white and firing purest white.

Dream also tried to speak sense into Error, telling him destroying the AU’s wasn’t necessary. Blue was trying to convince Error to just give us my universe’s address because the star Sans knew they’d overstayed their welcome and did not wish to further intrude on Error’s home. Error was shouting curses at them, ordering them to leave, and glitching so loudly his actual words were lost. Ink giggled.

The star sans tried to surround Error, but he wouldn’t let them. He used his strings to yank himself back or to the side every time one of the three got behind them and if they spaced out evenly and seemed to have him trapped, up he went, higher and higher until it seemed an illusion… and then it was an illusion and he was _right there_ beside or behind someone, using the impossible not-physics of the anti-void to his advantage.

Though it was Error’s territory, it was still three against one.

He was constantly harried by Dream’s constant barrage of arrows and Blue’s whirling bone formations. Ink seemed to have his own sense of the anti-void and would paint objects to bounce off and jump high enough to whip Broomy around and dissolve the strings Error used to keep him up, dropping both the destroyer and nearby dolls. Ink was soulless and Dream and Blue were endless founts of energy while Error was a twice recycled Sans and clearly getting tired.

It was inevitable. He couldn’t dodge forever.

The clear solvent Ink used splattered around the area, even splashing me and dissolving spots of my pants. Enough of Error’s strings were erased that not only the destroyer, but a large section of his doll collection fell. Before Error could draw forth more strings he was finally struck by one of Dream’s arrows, which sent him crashing to the floor where he was struck by several of Blue’s attacks. His coat shredded and though the black and blue skeleton terrified me in person, I’d rooted for him as a fanfiction character enough that my stomach still dropped seeing him potentially hurt.

Snarling, Error regained his feet. That mad grin and then broken, cackling laughter took over as he seized more strings from both eye sockets and whipped out fresh lengths.

I yelped as my feet were knocked out from under me, then watched in awe and fear as a series of blue strings sliced the air above me in rapid succession. By the time I’d sat up it was like Error’s home in the anti-void had turned into a vividly blue trap spider’s nest. Dream, Ink, and Blue did their best, but they were unable to avoid all the strings. In moments they were caught up; Dream refusing to release his bow, Ink yanked off his feet by his scarf, and Blue shouting in alarm as a set of strings sunk into his chest, no doubt catching his soul.

Existence, time, and space were torn anew and four blots of color appeared in the midst of Error’s trap. Blue, Dream, and Ink were each yanked through a different portal. Error jumped through the last. A moment later the portals hissed and closed.

And I was alone again.

In the anti-void.

With the white.


	9. Battlefield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to short and choppy for a while.

I sat for ~~seconds, days, hours~~ a good while, hoping for existence to tear apart again and Error or the Star Sanses to return, but nothing happened and nobody came.

Nothing and nobody were leering at me in a way I didn’t like.

Error's place still looked like an electric spider's den had exploded. It was setting off my fear of spiders and especially spider webs. I half expected to hear mildly sadistic chittering amid the strings. But, it was something other than the white, so I did eventually headed back toward the mess.

Error’s bean bag had several holes and tears in it, the beans were spilling out -mostly pinto. The knitting basket was crushed, its contents scattered well beyond Error’s little space. A mini-fridge I hadn’t seen before was destroyed, which was a shame because this left a lot of empty chocolate wrappers left to rot in the dimension where time doesn’t matter and nothing rots. Curious poking through the wrappers proved Error has no idea what makes good chocolate. There were as many terrible brands in the garbage as there were good brands of chocolate. At least none of it was white. Cocoa tree butter is NOT chocolate.

In addition to the extra netting Error had brought forth in his final attack, there must have been miles of severed string laying about or dangling down through the anti-void, tangling with discarded bones and fallen dolls. I spotted some Sans dolls that looked like the original, and there were dozens of other fandoms represented just on the ‘floor’. Maybe a couple hundred had fallen, but it didn’t begin to deplete the number of dolls still hanging overhead.

Regular sewing items had been spilled from the basket along with different colored strings and knitting needles. Several of the dolls had been damaged by Blue’s last attack and looked like they could be easily repaired, but I knew a lot of Error’s dolls contained dust and there was no way I was touching the things.

It was Error’s mess. He could clean it up.


	10. This Seems Familiar.

White

The strings hummed like they were on the verge of shocking me at any moment and made my wrist itch where one of these had cut me.

I tried to avoid them in favor of looking at the bones. They were and they were not very bone like. Putting it into words isn’t easy. They were like an artist’s rendition of bones… made out of calcium and such. Like a fake suckling pig made from SPAM, these were fake bones made out of bone, or something very close. The blue ones stung like nettles to the touch, so I pushed them around with the white bones instead, inventing little games and one-player sports.

Eventually, I began getting over my fear of the humming, wrist-itchy strings and started playing with those, too. Bone-stick hockey, cat’s cradle, pretend fencing, finger knitting, knitting with Error’s needles, knitting with Blue’s bones, pushing the strings into piles for furniture that wasn’t freaky anti-void not surface, hopscotch until the bones started falling through the freaky anti-void not surface, naps, jump rope, general obligatory goofing off…

Still, nobody came. Boredom set in again.

White.

I am weak willed and prone to cleaning when bored. It’s a curse.

Eventually I sifted through the mess and collect the bones in one pile, the strings in another pile, winding and tying lengths of blue in an orderly fashion, trying to remember not to scratch at my wrist and break the scab again.

Then I sorted the dolls into categories that made sense to me. The chocolate wrappers were scooped back into the destroyed minifridge. The knitting basked was un-crushed to the best of my ability and I carried it with me out into the anti-void to collect the balls of different colored string, needles, and embroidery scissors that had been scattered in the fight. On the one hand, it was just practical to carry the basket as I gathered the contents. On the other hand, it gave me something to look at that wasn’t white.

I set the basket next to the bean bag and scooped the spilled beans together, then took a set of knitting needles and some thread to start making patches.

I was only repairing his bean bag. I like bean bags.

I’m not going to fix the creepy urn-dolls.

White


	11. Counting Flower on the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually combining chapters of what I'd prewritten before. This isn't going to take the whole month, but it's fun while it lasts.

“… Smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo; now don’t tell me (doo-doo-dit-doo-doo) I’ve nothin’ to do.”

The bean bag had been successfully patched and refilled. The bag itself was too small for ~~my fat ass~~ a fully grown human to sit on without tearing it open again, so I left it. Hopefully someone would be back soon. In the meantime, I kept busy; lay down with a bundle of strings for a pillow and napped some more, sang every song I knew, made a few up, sorted the candy wrappers in the minifridge, lots to do. I tried counting sheep to take another nap but the more I tried the more I got stuck on 0100110100111.

Error’s knitting needles are too small for making much other than small stuffed dolls, so I hand-wove myself a sleeping mat. The mat was taller and wider than myself. Error’s blue threads are no thicker than regular machine sewing thread, so weaving, stuffing, and quilting the mat, then braiding and attaching a decorative border didn’t take too long.

After finishing my quilt and striding around like a queen with a cape, I set it aside and decided to run some laps around Error’s place, get some exercise, not be a lump. That didn’t last too long because the white was watching me too intently. I got self-conscious and didn’t try running again. Sometimes I got up the gumption to do some sit-ups or push-ups or the like on my new mat, but mostly I gave in and became a lump.

At some point while I was just _so_ infinitely occupied, the pile of bones just sort of disappeared, allowing the white to draw in closer.

Boredom started nagging again. I looked around and was repeatedly drawn back to the sewing kit in Error’s knitting bag and one particular doll, a Blueberry with its head coming off. I’d just met the guy, so it was particularly disturbing to see.

Okay, I’ll fix _one_ doll.

I’m working very, very, very, very, very hard not to think the word ‘dust’.

White.

I fixed the dolls.

All of them. I feel better now Blueberry’s head isn’t coming off. Ironic considering he was stuffed with grey powder so putting the doll’s head back on isn’t going to change much.

I ended up weaving a rag for the specific purpose of wiping the dust off my hands when I finished repairing the dolls. Now I lay on my quilted mat knowing I may never have another good night’s sleep that isn’t haunted by dust. Instead I stare up at the rest of Error’s collection, listening to the hiss or zip of moving strings and wondering what those little red specks of light are.

…

Oh. Now I remember. Error also collects souls. Frisks and Charas who can reset their universes. I can’t remember whether the souls he keeps might reset if killed or if there's another reason for the souls he chooses for his collection. Does he keep some of the anomaly souls or all of them? Maybe all of them, there are a lot of lights up there.

The souls are pretty. Bright like stars, but they don’t twinkle. Not shiny but warm and steady.

Souls of dead children who cannot die.

I stand up and go back through the dolls, hoping I missed some that need more repairs.


	12. Determination?

The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.  
The dolls contain the dust of the dead. I will not play with the dolls.


	13. The Dolls Contain the Dust of the Dead.

“WOWZERS EDGY ME! CREATORS SURE DO WRITE A LOT OF STORIES ABOUT US TO PUT ON THE HUMAN INTERNET! LOOK! I FOUND A TAG CALLED CHERRYBERRY AND IT’S ALL ABOUT US BEING BEST FRIENDS! OH EDGY, WHAT’S NON-CON, BDSM?”

“no! don’t look baby blue!”

Yes. I resorted to playing with the dolls that contain the dust of the dead. Is anyone surprised? Obviously not because I’m the only one here.

“WOWIE! DON’T WORRY EDGY ME! I WOULD NEVER DO THAT TO YOU WITHOUT YOUR CONSENT!”

Yes. I know Blue doesn’t talk like that. I’ve met the guy. Leave me alone. I’m playing.

“… wait… blue, what are you reading? …wtf blue! _you_ wrote this?!”

“MWEH-HEH-HEH-HEH!”

The white is judging me. I don’t blame it. _I’m_ judging me.

Yes. I can feel my sins crawling on my back.

Shut up.

I said _shut up._


	14. Playtime is Over

The unreality of the anti-void tore itself apart with a static noise. I dropped the dolls and guiltily scrambled away as a splash of green, tans, pinks, and yellows too foreign for my white bleached eyes to identify opened near the edge of Error's space. The black skeleton stepped through, grumbling in his broken voice. "Stupid 'guardians'. Do those idiots have any idea how long it will take me to clean… everything…?” The portal snapped shut behind Error as he stared around him.

Nervous, I hugged my knees to my chest and waited for him to explode or something. I’d managed to avoid most of his strings in the battle with the Star Sanses, but could he really grab my soul? There’s no way I could dodge if he was actually focused on me.

Sure, I’d fixed his bean bag, and the dolls, and spent a hell of a long time cleaning everything up, but I’d also been running around freely in his private space… and playing with his dolls.

Dolls which contain the dust of the dead. There are so many dreams waiting for me, and not the yellow starshine skeleton kind.

After looking for a while, longer than seemed necessary, Error held up a hand and snapped. The sound of his fingers snapping was higher, sharper than when humans snap their fingers, more like a teacup carelessly dropped on the saucer. Static hissed and a portal opened directly under the destroyed minifridge. Someone who was clearly a Sans but spoke with a rougher voice than the star sans, started bellowing as the fridge fell, “The fuck!? Don’t you fuckin’ da-” and then the portal zipped closed. A moment later another portal opened a little higher up and a brand-new mini fridge, still in the packaging, fell in the place of the old one.

Error then reached for his face and pinched below the eye socket, drawing just a couple strings out. I shivered and watched as he flexed his fingers and sent the strings flying. They whipped around the area but instead of latching onto me, they snagged all the dolls and yanked them back up into the air with that familiar zipline whine. Some of the strings hissed through the pile of cut threads I’d sorted earlier, the pile started to squirm before exploding upwards and outwards, again under Error’s control. The strings then wove through his collection, tightening up the ceiling so none of the strings hung loose and no dolls or souls stood out from the rest.

Soon it was just me, the beanbag, the knitting basket, my quilt, and the brand-new mini fridge with Error. He grabbed the knitting bag and left through a portal of brown and black with spackles of white. The portal hissed closed behind him.

Error was gone, and I was alone.

“You’re welcome!” I barked with all the droves of bravado I had when Error wasn’t actually there.

White.

White.

I couldn’t play with the dolls that contain the dust of the dead anymore. They were all hanging from the net like ceiling again, too high for me to reach. Really? Error is shorter than me, why are the dolls so high up?

Not that I tried too hard… or stood on top of the fridge…

Inevitably, I got around to opening the mini fridge. The brand wasn’t familiar. None of the words were English or in any language I recognized so I couldn’t read any of the labels or instructions, but that didn’t stop me from looking at them simply to have something to look at.

I miss reading.

When I’d finished staring longingly at the garbage, I neatly piled it to the side for Error to dispose of on Red’s head whenever he decided to come back.

After that I lay on the quilt and tried to remember where I’d left off on my stories back home. Overhead, the dolls remained mostly still, but sometimes a string would hiss and some of the dolls would rock back and forth for a little while before settling.

The white tingled all around me, teasing. I refused to humor it with a look. There wasn't anything out there, I wasn't going to play.

Any motivation to sing or work on my stories and characters long since dried up, I lay there and stare at the strings, dolls, and souls. Sometimes I dozed off. Sometimes the dolls move as if Error is drawing on the strings from somewhere or maybe I’m asleep and dreaming or maybe they just moving on their own.

I don’t care how hard the white tries to get my attention, I’m just going to lay here and wait for Error to come back… and try to jump through the portal into wherever he’s coming from before I go mad. Just shove his haphephobic bones out of my way and jump. Not wimp out and just sit there like that time.

It doesn’t matter Error’s coming from a genocide route or home-slice Nightmare’s castle. I’ll fight my way through Chara, Nightmare, Dust, and any other fool to get out of this anti-void.

I blinked at the ceiling, pinching myself to make sure I was awake this time, then experimented a little. “Brutal… hella… shnikies. _What the funk_?!”


	15. A Wild Fresh Doll Appears

The doll!

The Fresh doll!

The FRESH Doll!

The FRESH DOLL!

The Fresh!Sans doll had NOT been on the bean bag when I first settled on my quilt to attempt that whole ‘slip slowly into madness’ thing. I sorted every doll that had fallen at least twice, repaired several of them and NONE of the dolls had been a radical Fresh! There had been some cute pipe cleaner specs on some of the dolls, but no YOLO frames or gaudy 90’s color schemes.

I backed as away from the skeeze as fast as I could, almost abandoning Error’s space completely before the pressure of the white stopped me.

Obviously, the stupid doll didn’t move, but I didn’t want to get closer to it. So, I paced. Back and forth, as far into the white as I dared without getting any closer to that stupid doll. Eventually I started trying to convince myself that the thing wasn’t real. There had been no doll earlier and there wasn’t now. Either that or Error had snuck back and was messing with me… and he somehow knew both that I loathed Fresh and that I reviled the 90’s as a whole…

Trying to brainwash yourself apparently doesn’t work well with an either/or option. Not even here.

I got bored with pacing and glanced back at Error’s space.

Homeboy was staring at me.

I quickly turned away and started circling Error’s place. I’d go about a quarter around, or half, or just sprint out and try to circle all the way around to catch the thing off guard, but every time I looked that Fresh doll was watching me from the bean bag.

Rad.

It was looking at me! It’s LOOKING at me! LOOKING at ME! Stupid fly doll in my head messing with how I clownin’ _think_ and talk and it was _looking at me!_

Bugg’n bright colors and stupid glasses and dumb grin and I swear if those glasses come off and I have to see what’s behind them the fact that I was a human trapped in the anti-void will be MEANINGLESS as I WILL find a way to open up a can of whoop- **rad**.

I spun and pointed at the doll. “HA! Try to censor me with your contradicting rules of 90’s censorship! This is why 90’s cartoons _suck!_ And you can just step off! Psyche!”

Then it was time for curling up in the fetal position and whimpering because the stupid Fresh doll and the white were laughing at me.

This is bunk.

White.

The doll had to go. It or me. I couldn’t just sit out past the outer perimeter of Error’s string ceiling trying and failing to ~~cry~~ stay sane. I was going to march back in there and get rid of the doll… somehow…

I needed a weapon. There was no way I was going to risk touching the thing. Sitting up and looking back at Error's space, I contemplated my options. The fridge wouldn’t help me and the doll was draped over the bean bag. Error had taken his knitting bag, otherwise I’d Jael that brosef right through the head. I didn’t know how my quilt might help.

That left the garbage. I could work with that.

A plan made -kind of- I stood. The doll didn't quite follow my movements. It never moved when I looked at it. Moving cautiously, staying loose and on the balls of my feet, I began side-stepping. My eyes remained glued to the Fresh doll. It stayed as it was, draped over the bean bag and staring where I had been. I moved a little further. One step. Another. Ever patient. Gradually I allowed my steps to take me in further beneath the canopy of string and death. Ever slow, ever patient, I circled the doll and bean bag while approaching the pile of mini fridge packing garbage.

Patience might not be my primary soul trait, but I had it in abundance. Just a little further…


	16. Anti-Climax in the Anti-Void

The battle was surely epic. I just didn’t remember it.

One moment I was reaching for the cardboard discarded from the minifridge, eyes glued to the back of the Fresh doll on Error’s bean bag, the next I had taken a beating and was left breathing hard and sweating, almost completely physically exhausted. Blood dribbled freely from the side of my wrist, the cut itching fiercely and I hurt everywhere, in some places the pain was deep and would inevitably bruise, but I have no idea how that happened. And the Fresh doll was on the bean bag, facing me. I don’t even remember blinking, much less somehow making a completed sword from cardboard and scrap tape, but now the Doll was staring at me again. Its grin hadn’t been so smug a few ~~hours~~ moments ago. That was definitely a smirk.

Static hissed and tore into the anti-void. I couldn’t risk looking away from the doll, but for once, the portal opened in front of me. Even if Error hadn’t stepped in from the opposite side of the Fresh doll, I’m not sure I would have followed my previous resolution to jump through the portal to go _there._ It was black. So black it threatened to drag either me or whatever remained of my sanity into the infinite nothingness. The anti-void was nothing, but that black…

Error stepped from the maddening blackness as if it were his own bedroom or private study. He frowned at the two of us, skeletal grin canted up and to the side incredulously. The Fresh doll sagged on the not-floor but I refused to lower my guard, keeping my folded cardboard sword aimed true. ~~This isn’t the cardboard from the fridge…?~~

The destroyer lifted the ridge of one socket judgmentally at me, and with so little movement of his fingers I’m not even sure which did it, a single string skimmed past and snatched the doll up with the rest.

I lowered my weapon in relief, shaking from adrenaline and panting. I’ve always been told the person who wins the fight is the one who’s buddy gets there first. Didn’t think Error was my buddy, and don’t remember the fight, but the rule applies. “Thanks.”

Instead of acknowledging me, Error tossed his knitting basket beside his bean bag and turned to sneer at the endless white. “Shut-it!” He snapped.

The white didn’t.

Grumbling, Error snapped his fingers, blues and reds flashing, sound china sharp. The black portal behind him hissed shut but the hissing came from behind me as well. I was too exhausted to do anything about it, especially when there wasn’t a real floor or ground to stand on. Error rolled his eye lights at my weakness and flicked a wrist. His strings sang as they sliced down from the overhead cloud. They snapped around my arms and waist and threw me through the second portal like last week’s fish.

I hit the hardwood in my house hard, sliding a couple feet with my cardboard sword skittering beside me. Through the portal, I got one last look at Error’s bemused expression before reality closed in and the portal was gone.

For a moment I just sat there, stunned by this unexpected turn of events. Error had sent me home.

But then, reality closed in.

Reality.

I started to shiver. It was cold in the house. The floor was cold. The floor was beige and very hard. I could feel my weight stopping against the floor. It was dark in the room. The air was stale. The couch beside me was brown. The walls were blue. The fridge was silver. The electronics were black. The kitchen was yellow. The clocks gave off electric blue and red light. The counters were tan. The clock was ticking. The fridge was humming. The electronics were whining. There was an outside. Sunlight filtered red and yellow through the curtains. Kids were playing out there. Traffic was humming. My ears were ringing. All of it, and it was more than I could handle.

It was too much.

Too Much.


	17. Too Much

Too Much.

TOO MUCH!

“ ** _TOO MUCH!”_**

Color, light, dark, sound, touch, cold, heavy. Alone in the dark, empty house was too much even before the screaming started echoing of the hardwood and walls. It was worse when someone knocked on the door, then later pounded on the door and shouted. Worse still when the door splintered open and the police came inside, guns at the ready. Their uniforms and gear scraped and rattled. Boots harsh on the floor. I could feel the vibrations of their steps. They tried to talk to me. They turned the lights on.

As if it wasn’t too much before.

They used their radios. Clicking, buzzing, chirping radios. Soon, paramedics in uniforms almost identical to the cops but with HEPA filter masks came. They tried to talk to me. There was a half dozen other people in my house. I told them it was too much. They didn’t understand.

They surrounded me -so much movement, sound, shadows, vibrations, and color, and then jumped on me. Their clothes tasted of plastic and dirt, then of copper and salt. My throat was starting to hurt. Even with five people in stiff, rough clothes touching me, pressing on me, so heavy; I still felt the sharp needle in my arm.

After that things got fluffy. I was lifted onto a soft stretcher and strapped down with one hand above my head and the other on my chest. They covered me from the neck down with a rough, warm blanket. Then there was sky, cold, wind, so much space and air and reality. Things kept getting fluffier until I can’t remember what happened.

That was more comfortable.

Eventually it stopped being too much. I was in a room with an uncomfortable bed with stiff sheets and a too-thin blanket. My pajamas were thin and starched, and the electronic ankle bracelet kept snagging on the sheets. The room itself was full of ice colors. Mint greens, powder blues, chrome, and creams.

And white. Fucking white.

My wrist itched, but the cut had healed. My pelvis felt heavy and it took a few minutes to remember that meant I needed the bathroom. I sat up and looked around, trying to find the bathroom. There were three identical honey colored pinewood doors which told me exactly nothing about which one I needed. However, sitting up allowed me to see more of the room and drew my attention to a different color, one that didn’t burn with the fury of reality.

Folded neatly at the foot of my bed was a rough, handmade, blue quilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End...
> 
> ...with a definite question mark. (?)


End file.
